The Limits of the Line
by Ecken
Summary: An exploration of the worst-case scenario: Booth and Brennan's partnership has dissolved. Can they come together again?  DISCONTINUED
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** There are a few spoilers here, but I have taken some creative liberties as well. The objective here an exploration of the worst-case scenario we can imagine for this pair, irregardless of what we may or may not know about the finale.

She met the standards of a superior mate, evolutionarily speaking. The woman had symmetrical and expressive features, large, rounded eyes, a clear complexion and lengthy, shiny hair. She was also clever, educated, dynamically tempered- at once feisty and agreeable- and had her own means but knew when to yield to Booth's desire to provide for her. She could appreciate why Booth had affection for her.

What she did not appreciate was the seating arrangements at Angela and Hodgin's wedding. Their table of eight could have been better planned: Booth and Dr. Bryar were uncomfortably centered in the natural drift of her gaze throughout dinner. Daisy and Sweets waxed nauseatingly about love. Cam and Dr. Lidner shared the enthusiasm of a new relationship. And Andrew- she just did the best she could to pretend to enjoy his company, despite how inferior she had grown to find him. Only his statute and career status remained pleasing to him. His humor had become grating, and his enthusiasm to indulge her biological urges, of which she had none directed towards him, wore at her resolve. Nevertheless, she would maintain her composure, and danced with him awkwardly in acknowledgment of her social obligations. It was only out of a desire to maintain her own dignity that she directed her wandering eyes past Booth and Dr. Bryar and towards the happy couple.

Little, however, could dull the irrational pang of jealousy and regret. She unyieldingly understood that she had made the right decision. There was too much uncertainty in his proposals, there were no "rules of the game,"- no guarantee of the cooperation required for success. While Hodgins had been right to point out to her that game theory was not the appropriate tool for relationship analysis, and that she had introduced damaging uncertainty into her partnership with her own defection, she knew that this outcome was an ultimate certainty. By introducing it early, she hoped she would have enough turns to reverse the pattern. Judging by the way Booth chose to defect now by lasciviously applying his affections for Dr. Bryar in her face while Andrew stepped on her toes, it appeared she may have miscalculated the duration of her opportunity.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, Brennan knew that she was in control of the situation. When she had been invited to the _Australopithecus_ dig in South Africa, she knew she would be unable to turn it down. Not only was it a chance of a lifetime, but it was an opportunity to end a game that was torturing them both. By controlling the last turn, she could take a small victory in the fact that she, too, was moving on. This was a small consolation as she watched Dr. Bryar and Booth get into a cab, visibly inebriated, amorous and absorbed in one another.

**Monday Afternoon, The Jeffersonian**

Brennan paged through the dissertation of one of her graduate students- her red pen wielded like a small dagger, supplying enough cutaneous injuries that bled disappointment all of the work. She expected better from a student that would be required to defend soon, but she tried to balance her disappointment with the knowledge that it was somewhat self-inflicted: the student would have less time to prepare because her decision to go to South Africa.

"Bones, you got a minute?"

Brennan looked up towards the voice to find Booth leaning in the frame of the door and hands inserted into his pockets with more determination than average. He had been laconic lately, limiting casual conversation where it might drift towards too-familiar or uncomfortable subjects, late nights with paperwork and Thai food, lunch-time case brainstorm sessions and celebratory drinks with the team. This is not to suggest that he been unfriendly, or that what interactions they still did have deviated very much from the established norm- only that they just had fewer of them.

"Sure, Booth. Do we have a case?" she inquired as she dropped her pen into the organizer. She grabbed her bag out of habit and set it on the desk, indicating that she was prepared to go.

He shook his head, "No. I need to talk to you about something," he frowned briefly, "But we shouldn't do it here. The diner, maybe? You hungry?"

Brennan looked at him curiously, allowing apprehension to flicker over her face only briefly. "I could be persuaded to eat some fruit salad. I have been meaning to discuss something with you as well." After collecting the documents on her desk into a neat pile and shouldering her bag, she looked up and smiled at him, hiding the anxiety boiling in her stomach. "Let's go."

**The Diner**

Brennan pushed around the cantaloupe in her fruit salad in search of the grapes. She was aware of the necessity of calories, both from the persistent grumbling of her stomach and the general malaise she had been experiencing since _that night _put a dent in the only factor of normalcy in her erratic schedule. However , she was unable to indulge her body in anything but a sad attempt at eating. She pretended not to notice that Booth was doing little more than picking at his fries. Emboldened by their mutual misery, she reached over to steal one from his plate.

He looked up at her wearing a matching smile of endearment, haunted by the specter of grief and worry. "What's on your mind, Bones?"

"I have some exciting news, but you should go first."

Booth paused like he might insist she continue, but he yielded. "I am going to be taking a leave of absence for a year," he looked back down towards his fries at her unnaturally stoic expression, "The Rangers need me to train snipers."

Rationally, she knew that staring at the top of his head would not allow her to read his mind, so she waited until he looked up at her again. His eyes were more elucidating. "Why? What about the balance? What about Parker? And Dr. Bryar?" Silently, she asked, _What about me?_

"You know why. Parker will be fine," he responded tersely, leaning back against the booth, "Tell me about your exciting news," he pressed unenthusiastically.

Brennan couldn't help but feel taken aback by his decision. He was making his final defection, not just at her own expense, but at the expense of himself, and his son, and their partnership, and…She found it unusually difficult to maintain an organized stream of thoughts. His decision was irrational, even from his perspective. She was at once confused, frustrated and enraged. She felt abandoned. She felt like he was blaming her because he had to demand what he knew she couldn't give. She knew that she had hurt him, and that their injuries were not equivalent, but he had placed them on a level plane now- their scores were tied, and she held the last card.

"I've been invited to participate in a hominid dig in South Africa," she informed him flatly, reaching for her glass of water, "For a year." She punctuated her statement with a swallow of her ice water, "And I am taking Ms. Wicks- she and Dr. Sweets will be postponing their wedding date due to the significance of this opportunity for us both. "

Booth was less adept at stoicism, and his reaction- a furrowed brow, a cast of disappointment in his eyes, a sigh of frustration, the purposefulness in his mastication- "Sweets must be thrilled," he replied with sarcasm.

"Actually, he is disappointed in Ms. Wicks decision. However, he understands how much this means to her, and plans to visit frequently." She was not hesitant to present the subtext in the form of a bitter tone.

"Congratulations, then," he offered her with as much sincerity as he could muster, and tossed several bills on the table, "When do you leave?" he asked, pulling on his coat.

"Next Wednesday. Yourself?" The lilt in her voice was exceedingly polite, and the irritation she had intended to muster was visible."

"In a month. I thought I'd provide you with the courtesy to interview a new partner. " He looked down, incredulous, wiping his jaw, "I assume you informed the bureau?"

Brennan nodded, gathering her own belongings, "Several weeks ago. I expect that is the source of the decline in cases we have been assigned this week. There would be insufficient time for me to contribute my expertise so close to my departure."  
Booth's body language became increasingly agitated at her reply, and then relaxed altogether. He nodded, watching her with uncomfortable attentiveness. Her victory felt sour. "Have a nice trip, Bones," he finally conceded with a hand resting against the side of her shoulder. He stepped forward, like he might hug her, and she leaned in like she might accept it. Her arm burned at his touch. Her body raged for the oxytocin, the dopamine, the vasopressin response that would relieve them both. Instead, he dropped his arm, and left the diner.

They had missed their moment, and they continued to punish each other.


	2. Chapter 2

Her apartment had developed an eerie quality. The mix of classical music in the background had given it an ominous false cheer. Perhaps it was because she tried to replace takeout, paperwork and after-case beers with _The Well-tempered Clavier. _She wryly wondered aloud to no one that when she swept the dust off of her furniture in a year, she could sweep him out as well- maybe then they could start over. Logically, she knew that this was an impossibility. You can never start over. She would still need to pack, though.

She methodically removed the necessary clothing from her closet and piled it neatly onto her bed. Then, she moved onto toiletries, field equipment, her laptop, anthropology journals, a small cache of snacks. As she took each object from its normal location, she felt the loneliness seep from the corners of her bedroom. She bid it away, meticulously folding each of her garments into her suitcase, trying to lose herself in the repetitive motions. Just as she began to succeed, her phone rang.

"Brennan," she answered, too quickly to check the caller ID.

"Hey sweetie. Are you almost done packing?" It was Angela. Brennan could hear the gentle roaring of the waves in the background.

"Yes. I have a few more things to fold, and then I intend to review some of the reports Dr. Bastock sent to me this morning. He seems enthusiastic about my arrival."

"Bren, why are you spending your last night in town looking and reports you can read on the plane?"

"Because Angela," Brennan tried to tame her frustration. She was beginning to understand the difference between wanting and needing something- and she needed to be alone, "You and Hodgins are on your honeymoon. Ms. Wicks and Dr. Sweets are occupied. I have informed Dr. Hacker that our relationship would not continue after our last date, and Cam attending a school event for Michelle."

"I see," Angela replied with audible disappointment, "And Booth?"

"Booth and I exchanged our goodbyes last week at the diner."

"Last week? Brennan…" She felt like she was being scolded, "Booth is your partner and your friend. You do not exchange goodbyes a week in advance. What happened?"

"Nothing unusual. He informed me that he would be training snipers for the Army for a year. I informed him I would be leading this fieldwork in South Africa. Then, we exchanged cordial goodbyes and parted ways- the bureau would not be assigning us anymore cases in the interim, so we had no pretext for interacting."

"Brennan, you're friends and you're partners. That is your pretext!" Her exasperation was audible. "You need to call him."

She took a deep breath, rolling the words around in her mouth, testing them, before she quietly spoke them into the phone. "We are not friends nor partners any longer. It was clear at the diner that Dr. Sweets was correct in his analysis of our real first case. We are only punishing one another."

"What are you talking about? Why are you listening to Sweets? You said nothing unusual happened, now you're telling me- Look, you can fix this, sweetie. Just call him. Meet him at Founding Fathers. If nothing else, have a beer together and part amicably."

"I will consider it," she lied, "I do need to finish packing now."

Angela sighed into the receiver, "I hope you do more than consider it. Have a safe flight, Bren- please call me when you get in."

Brennan nodded on the other end, "Good night, Angela. I will be sure to inform you when I arrive." She closed her phone and tossed it on her bed, eyes fixed on her clothing. She would pack. She would go to sleep. She would consider calling Booth in the morning.

**The Next Morning**

Brennan watched her father put her bags in the trunk of the cab and close the trunk. Passing some money towards the driver in the front seat of the taxi, he told him, "Give us a minute, alright?" The driver, who had a bizarre resemblance to her anthropology adviser as an undergraduate, accepted the money and leaned on his wheel to rest his eyes.

"Thank you- you didn't have to do that," she told her father with a small smile.

He nods and embraces her, "Anything for you, Tempe. Have a safe trip." He squeezes a little tighter before releasing her.

She nods in response and opens the passenger-side door of the cab, "I will call you when I get in." It's awkward, this exchange. Although she has affection for this man, there is a lot that is unspoken between them. She is unsure about how to respond to his paternal expression.

Just as she is about the pull the door closed behind her, her father catches it. "One second, Tempe. I think that's Booth running down the sidewalk." She follows his eyes down the street to see a familiar figure jogging towards them. When he arrives, he leans forward, hands on his knees, eye-level to Brennan, panting.

"I thought I was going to have to make a dramatic entrance at the airport," he jokes through breathes.

She furrows her brow in confusion, "What are you talking about? Why are you hear Booth?" Her heart thumps in her chest. She wonders if he will ask her to stay. She wonders if that is what she wants.

"I wanted to say goodbye." He stands up, having caught his breath and extends his hand to accept hers.

She takes it, as if she is accepting a handshake, but he pulls her out of the taxi instead, and into a warm hug. She wraps her arms around his neck, resting her head on her shoulders. She feels her pulse quickening and her blood vessels dilating as she receives a final hit of oxytocin. He whispers in her ear, "I just want you to know that I understand why you need to go, and that I will be here when you get back." He plants a small kiss on her cheek, and Brennan finds herself too stunned to respond. She looks up at him with searching eyes as he pulls away and leads her back into the passenger seat of the cab, "I'll see you soon, Bones."

He shuts the passenger door and pats the roof of the cab. The driver pulls onto the road almost immediately, leaving Brennan to stare out of the back window, towards him as the sky opens up and a gentle rain begins to fall down. Booth stands next to her father, wearing equivalent expressions of sadness beneath their smiles. They wave to her, becoming smaller and smaller until the violent screeching of her alarm clock disturbs her fantasy.

**At the airport**

At the curb, the real one, no one told her goodbye. At the airport, she could barely stomach Ms Wicks and Sweets tearful goodbye at the security line. Only after reprimanding Ms. Wicks a third time was she able to separate them. Ms. Wicks cried for thirty minutes while they waited at the gate, before devolving slowly into her typical state of exasperating chipperness. She exceeded Brennan's patience when she refused to stop talking about how many trips her and "Lancelot" had planned on his visits, earning her a look of stern disapproval that granted Brennan a blissful four minutes of silence. When, she proceeded to express her general excitement about the discovery, Brennan informed Ms. Wicks that she was sure she could find a replacement for her- she required silence so that she could adequately prepare for the day ahead of her. Ms. Wicks finally complied.

When the announcer finally called for first class passengers' over the intercom, she felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. She looked down at the caller ID: Booth. She took a deep breath and encouraged Ms. Wicks on.

"Brennan."

"Hey, Bones. You at the airport?"

"Yes. The announcer has just called for first class passengers. Is this an emergency?"

"No," he responded sourly, "I wanted to tell you to have a safe flight."

"That is unnecessary. The statistical probability of an accident on this airline is extremely low even though this airport perceived as precarious by most international travelers. "

She could hear Booth chuckle shortly on the other line. It lacked his usual humor. "That's comforting. Keep in touch, Bones."

"Thank you, Booth," she replied sincerely and clicked her phone shut to board the plane.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sorry for the lack of updates. School. Don't worry- my goal is to get this story and all of it's 15+ chapters before the end of next week. Fortunately, I have some of them written in advance!**

**One Year Later…**

Brennan moaned into her pillow as she felt the warm arm snake around her waist and pull her closer. Into her ear, the voice whispered, "Tempe- it's time to wake up." He patted her on the behind and rolled out of bed. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the tall, caramel-colored man slip on his robe and stretch in the dusty sunlight streaming out of the apartment window. The air still smelled old.

Taking a deep breath, she, too, willed herself out of bed, carelessly brushing the hair out of her eyes as she padded towards the bathroom. It had been two days and her circadian rhythm had not modulated itself from its South African schedule. In the shower, she nodded off intermittently against the cool tile, lulled by the warm, steamy air and the relaxing flow of water. She deliriously imagined herself getting out, getting dressed and meeting her co-workers back at the lab at least three times before a combination of cold water and a bribe of coffee from Terrence encouraged her out of the bathroom.

While pretending to read the newspaper on her laptop with a bagel, she investigated polyphasic sleep cycles, both as a way to adjust her malfunctioning rhythm and to accomplish the significant volume of work she had waiting for her at the Jeffersonian and left over from her dig. The inferior scanning technology available at the sister institute in South Africa was the reason she was back nearly two weeks early and the excuse for her company. Terrence Bastock would be assisting her with the final reports and speaking at the first conference about the find in D.C. in six short weeks. As for how long their relationship would persist afternoons, Brennan was reluctant to speculate.

Terrence was well above average. He had strong, symmetrical features, intriguing eyes, an astounding intellect, and the kind of sense of humor Brennan could appreciate without explanation. It didn't hurt that they shared similar interests and had the kind of complementary immunoprofiles that that spark a near-instant attraction. Although she was hesitant to sleep with him because of the close working relationship they needed to maintain throughout the trip, it was apparent early on that Terrence was not so different as herself and they could pursue a relationship that was free of irrational attachments that could cloud judgment.

Of course, Terrence didn't understand that Brennan was not as blank of a slate as she appeared to be. She could not pretend she was not rattled by her final interactions with Booth, nor the fact that she could not bring herself to contact him on the previous year, nor the fact that he had no taken any steps to contact her. What brief intelligence she could acquire about his wellbeing was delivered by Dr. Sweets on one of his half dozen visits to Ms. Wicks. He repeatedly informed her that Booth was getting along just fine, based on his own brief conversations with Booth and the second-hand knowledge he was passed from Cam. She let Sweets know she was just fine as well, although he appeared skeptical at her proclamations for reasons she was not interested in evaluating.

And now she was in the parking lot of the Jeffersonian, trying to convince Terrence that he didn't need to carry the bag of items she borrowed from her office. They were nearly bickering.

"Look, Terrence, aside from the fact that I do not require your assistance to carry that bag, I have some very precious items in there and I would like to personally secure their safety."

"What's the matter, Tempe? Don't you trust me?" He teased with the seductive lilt of his South African accident, punctuated with a gentle elbow at her rib. She frowned at him.

"It's not that I don't trust you. I simply…" As the elevator doors opened, she caught Angela on her way out, walking out of the elevator without even looking up from her phone. "Angela," she stated warmly and found herself quickly enveloped into a somewhat uncomfortable but brief hug.

"Brennan! You didn't tell me you were getting back early. I would have picked you up at the airport, although it's clear I didn't need to." She leaned forward, half-whispering, "Who's the stud?"

"Angela, this is Dr. Bastock. He was the field manager on the _Australopithecus_ dig. We are also in a sexual relationship." She figured it was better to state it up front to avoid Angela's occasionally endearing, but nearly always irritating questioning.

Terrence chuckled, and took shook Angela's hand with both of his. "It is nice to meet you Ms. Montenegro. Brennan has informed me of your great talents."

Angela looks at Terrence, but speaks to Brennan, "My, he is charming. He just might be a keeper, Bren."

Brennan felt an immediate and inexplicable revulsion at the sentiment, and stepped into the elevator. "I am sure we will have an opportunity to catch up, later. I would like to introduce Dr. Bastock to the rest of the lab and then begin scanning the bone fragments that we have. If I could bother you to help me with a facial reconstruction later, I would be interested in several estimations I have about it's tissue densities."

Angela laughed briefly, waving at them as the elevator door closed, "Whatever you need sweetie."

She introduced Dr. Bastock without incidence or reference to their relationship, and they quickly fell back into their routine in the bone room. High-powered X-rays, mass spectrometers, carbon-dating , preparing preliminary papers and talks for the conference: over the next six weeks, Brennan and Bastock ticked items off of a checklist as soon as they wrote them down. It was apparent to nearly everyone that they were an effective synchronous pair, albeit a similar one rather than the well-oiled duo of opposites she had abandoned nearly a year before.

As each day drew to a close, Brennan felt a growing anxiety in her belly. Would Booth return to the FBI to work with them? Did she want them too? She felt a longing for him. Admittedly, she missed him. She was unsure about their ability to work together as harmoniously as she found herself working with Terrence. She was uncomfortable with Angela's suggestion that hers and Terrence's sexual relationship was what made than an inseparable, hyperefficient team, well-attuned to the other's needs. More frustratingly, she was uncomfortable with the idea that Booth would be able to intuit her relationship with this man, or the gnawing sensation that he, too, may have succeeded in moving on when she had only pretended to.

Three days before the scheduled conference, and the night before Booth's impending arrival, Terrence again snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her close against his chest. She laced her fingers through his in an unconscious gesture of affection and considered informing him of the situation at hand. Instead, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The air was still dusty.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** **Stick with me here. It's going to get worse before it gets better, but I can assure you that this will not be your average B&B payoff.**

She wasn't hungry, but she could feel the churning of her stomach with particular acuity. It felt empty despite her bagel-breakfast, and expanded as if she was gaseous. Upon describing it to Angela that morning, she h ad learned she was either pregnant or had "butterflies in her stomach" because Booth was coming back, Terrence was leaving and, after some pause, the conference was approaching. She had rejected these hypotheses, even if they were on her mind, and retreated to her office for a more productive distraction.

Surveying her desk, it did appear that she had a monumental task ahead of her: a final presentation draft, revisions on her and Terrence's research article, appointments with related scientists to look at the bones. She'd admit she did have elevated stress levels about the quality of their preliminary findings, given that she and Terrence had only had six weeks to gather data with the level of technology she was accustomed to. Fortunately, she would have most of the morning to work on it while Terrence was giving a lecture at American University. She and Terrence were an efficient team when it came to data collection and analysis, but his writing style left a great deal to be desired. Her initial copy of their joint paper about the X-ray analysis of the bone fragments hemorrhaged where each paragraph was contributed by him.

A short two hours later, she had an epiphany about some of the injuries on the clavicle fragment and rushed out of her office towards the bone room. Half-way down the hallway, she heard it:

"Seeley, I will be frank with you, I am disappointed," Cam spoke into the phone from inside her office. Brennan shrank back, out of site, and continued listening. The bizarre sensation in her stomach, once distracted away from her productivity, having returned with more tenacity than before.

"I do understand," she said after a pause, "Dr. Brennan is an adult. I think you should talk…" Cam sighed, cut-off.

"I really don't want to get between the two of you. All I have to say is that I think you're In different places now and you may be able to work together again. You owe her a conversation—no, no…Fine. Maybe she owes you a conversation. In either case, you need to talk to her. After that, I will be disappointed to see you go, but I am sympathetic and will support your decision."

"I am a little backed up here. Dr. Brennan is still technically on leave to work until after the conference. Maybe Friday would be better?"

"Sounds good. See you then."

Brennan turned around quickly and rushed back to her office, internally struggling to remember what she was doing before so she could push that conversation away until she had time to rationalize it. Deep breaths, something about injuries sustained on the… collarbone! She massaged her temples, willing the anxious pit in her stomach away. What about them? What about them?"

"Bren , are you alright?" She briefly the considered the parameters necessary to quantify the statistical probability that any moment she was having a deviation from her normal course of logical behavior, Angela would walk in. With wry humor, she noted it was probably very high.

"I'm fine. I had an idea, I became distracted and I have now forgotten it. I am trying to run my memory."

"Jog your memory, sweetie. That's unlike you- are you sure you're alright? You don't look alright."

"Yes, Angela. I'm fine." Her tone was short.

"No need to be rude to me, Brennan. Do you want to have lunch with me? You look like you need some girl talk, or at least a break."

"I can assure you, I am perfectly well. I am merely trying to recollect my thoughts. I would be more than willing to prove this to you by indulging your misconceptions about my state of mind by going to lunch with you, but I am pressed for time. I need to finish my presentation, call Dr. Ordaway…"

Angela interrupted her. "Take a breath, alright? I saw you outside of Cam's office. What did you hear?"

Brennan pulled air into her lungs and exhaled it deeply. She took a seat on her couch that looked more like collapsing onto it than her usual demeanor allowed. Angela took a seat next to her and leaned back into the cushions, looking at her expectantly. Brennan kept her eyes on her hands folded in her lap, looking up intermittently to gauge Angela's reaction. "She was talking to Booth. She said she would be disappointed, that we were in different places now so we should be able to work together, that I owed him a conversation but he should talk to me anyway—" She rapidly sorted through the information as she gave it to Angela. _Did he want a new partner? Was he transferring? Leaving the FBI?_

She felt Angela pat her knee. "Are you really surprised? Sweets told me neither of you have been in contact with one another. " Angela's words prompted her to internally scold herself. She had spent more than a few hours staring at a blinking cursor on the screen, wondering how should could apologize, reconstitute their partnership, and at one time, reinspire his urge to gamble. She understood that it was futile to dwell on the past, though, and that's why she had moved on, just like Booth did. Terrence was an adequate substitute in most applications. His skills in the bedroom were exceptionally phenomenal…

"Earth to Brennan?" Angela waved a hand in front of her face.

"I'm sorry- I…No. I am not surprised. I am simply startled by the impending formality of ending our partnership. This dig has provided me with more than enough paperwork and I will have difficulty keeping track of an additional agreement. This is compounded by the fact that Terrence will not be around to help me with it."

"The paperwork or the emotional disruption of ending your partnership?" Angela's left eyebrow was lifted in an expression Brennan found to be irrationally irritating.

"The paperwork," she affirmed with more insistence than was necessary.

"Bren, you know there is no shame in admitting that this is challenging you, or that you're upset about it. Booth was your partner and your friend for five years. Even after a year apart, it's not unreasonable to believe you would still have lingering feelings, maybe some regret?"

Brennan emphatically shook her head, a small hint of guilt rising in her throat. She was in no position to consider or analyze any of it. It was a waste of time- it accomplished nothing. She needed to work on her presentation. She needed to arrange Terrence's return flight. She needed to clean out her apartment. "No. I have confident in the decisions I made, even if my intent wasn't perceived accurately. Thank you for listening, Ang, but I need to get back to work." Rising from the couch, she strode over to her desk with more determination to compartmentalize and focus than before, only to be disrupted by buzzing in her pocket as soon as she sat down.

"Who is it?" she heard Angela ask from the couch.

"It's Dr. Sweets. He wants to see me in his office this afternoon." She looked over at Angela with an ephemeral expression of defeat. She stifled it quickly by opening her laptop and looking for her place in the first document. "I should have enough time to finish this speech before I go."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Two things. 1) Quick thanks to the reviewers! I appreciate your comments. 2) Did DB look younger in this last episode, or was it just me?**

Brennan felt impatient in the elevator. She understood that hitting the button for the 6th floor three times would not increase the expediency that the elevators door closed at, but she indulged herself anyway because she had no audience. On the way up, she acquired company at each floor, resulting in a 176 seconds journey to the 6th floor that would have required 23 seconds without interruption. She was not consoled by the fact that climbing the stairs would not have been quicker.

All she wanted was to walk into Dr. Sweets office, be expediently informed that she would no longer be working with Booth and supplied with reasoning. Then, she would hand Dr. Sweets a copy of the letter she was delivering to the Cullen and Hacker to end her collaboration with the FBI, and leave. The reason would be implicit. There would be no psychoanalysis or interpretation of her behavior. She would dissolve her partnership with Booth and the FBI as set by Booth's example: distant and impersonal. It suited her perfectly.

With an unexpected rush of adrenaline, she pulled down the lever on Dr. Sweets door and stepped in, leaving her hand on the handle. She fixed her gaze on the slightly startled psychologist. "Dr. Sweets, as you are well aware, I am extremely occupied with my conference. I know why you have called me in and I am submitting to you a copy of the letter I am delivering to Cullen and Hacker today. I will no longer be working with the FBI. She leaned forward to hand Sweets the letter and saw him.

With the letter still in her hand, she turned to inspect him. He stood on the corner, leaning sideways against the window the way he used to lean in her door. His shoulders were bent slightly forward, hands shoved in his pockets. His clothing was casual like he was not at work- a plaid shirt, jeans and tennis shoes. After a pregnant pause, she addressed him, "I was not expecting you, Booth."

"That's funny," he commented, "Because I expected you to behave no differently, even if you had seen me when you walked in." He looked towards Sweets with a disappointed scoffing sound. It sparked a bitter rage in Brennan's belly.

"Dr. Brennan, will you sit down? Agent Booth? Even if you both quit working for or with the FBI, I am required to conduct an exit interview. As our best team, the FBI will be very interested in why your partnership cannot continue."

Brennan turned to leave, "Another time, Sweets," she said, until she heard Booth making that annoying scoffing sound at him. She narrowed her eyes at him, infuriated. He petulantly met her glare until Brennan found herself being physically removed from the doorway into Dr. Sweets office by a suited security guard with an FBI badge.

Chaos ensued. Her immediate instinct was to violently remove the suited security guard's hand from her arm while she shouted, "What do you think you're doing?" He had assistance from an even larger guard which helped him overpower her with a forceful shove back into the room. Not before Booth gave one of them a black eye and a blow to the stomach, predictably, but this only provided him with the momentum to pull the door closed. His less-injured assistant locked the door quickly from the outside, leaving Brennan rattling the lock and trying to get out. She turned towards Sweets with the same simmering resentment she had just directed at Booth, only to find he was directing similar sentiments towards the psychologist as well, "What the hell do you think you're doing Sweets?" she heard Booth say with a predatory inflection.

Sweets nearly trembled in his chair, visibly afraid, but he held his ground. "You are required to do an exit interview by the FBI. I predicted your mutual resistance and arranged for assistance. " He kept his voice level, meeting Booth's eyes and then her own. "Would you care to sit down?"

Booth pointed at Sweets and then at the door, walking a few steps forward to tower over him. His arms leaned against the armrests of Sweets' chair. "You are going to unlock this door right now," he informed Sweets with a conviction she had rarely seen in Booth.

She would not admit it, but Sweets impressively continued to maintain his composure. "You will not intimidate me, Agent Booth. I will call the agents to unlock the door when our exit interview is over."

Booth balled his fists in response, before finally conceding and sitting himself in his usual chair. "I don't care enough to fight you," he told them both with a shrug.

Brennan looked at the back of Booth's head, saddened by his comment, and then angry. _He doesn't care enough about our partnership to fight for it or fight about it or fight to avoid it? _Aware that Dr. Sweets was probably interpreting her expression, she directed her vitriol towards him instead. "Dr. Sweets, I will not grant you the privilege of a productive conversation locked in this room. I have a conference to prepare for. I do not have time for your baseless interpretations and ridiculous exercises."

"That's alright," he said as he reached around his chair. He pulled out one brown paper bag at a time, setting them in his lap, followed by soft drinks still dripping from what must have been a small cooler. "I was prepared for that as well. Daisy packed us all dinner in case we're here after 6:00."

"She's fired," she responded simply, making a mental note to have a conversation with the intern about the necessity of staying out of the affairs of her boss and her mentor.

"Would you care to sit down, Dr. Brennan? Perhaps you would like to address why you care enough to resist this conversation and Booth does not?"

Brennan sat in the chair and folded her arms petulantly, "I don't care," she leveled.

"Then neither of you should have any problems going through this list of questions I need to ask. If you're cooperative, this shouldn't take more than forty-five minutes." Sweets returned the sodas to the cooler and the brown paper bags to his stash, and reached for a clipboard. "Question 1- Brennan, you can answer this one first- Why are you ending your collaboration with the FBI?"

"After spending a year in South Africa, I desire to spend more time doing the anthropological work that I trained for. Furthermore, this dig has provided me with enough work to sustain me for the rest of my career and it is of extreme importance." The answer fell out quickly and smoothly, as practiced as the letter now semi-crumpled from the scuffle in her bag.

"It has nothing to do with the disrepair you left your partnership in? Or your new partnership with Dr. Bastock?"

Brennan felt betrayed by the question. She felt betrayed that Dr. Sweets would question the importance of her work. She felt betrayed that Dr. Sweets would bring up Dr. Bastock so casually in front of Booth, although she did not understand why- not without admitting to herself why she also felt betrayed that he was confronting her about why she left in the first place.

"It has nothing to do with Dr. Bastock. He is an adequate partner, but he is leaving for South Africa soon. It also has nothing to with the disrepair that _I_ left the partnership in. It may, in very small part, have to do to the damage _you_ did to our partnership when you _goaded _Booth into confessing his feelings when you _knew_ that it would only result in his rejection because _you_ felt embarrassed about the inadequacy of your interpretation of our relationship." Her statement came out in a single breath, and she began to understand the definition of "ranting." She stared down Dr. Sweets, glancing only briefly at Booth. His arms were folded as well, leaning into the corner of his chair as if to get as far away from her as possible. He was doing that scoffing noise again. If she heard it one more time…

"I am going to ignore your allegations. Tell me something, Dr. Brennan: Are you going to take any responsibility for the situation you're in?"

**Part II, very soon…**


	6. Chapter 6

"I am going to ignore your allegations. Tell me something, Dr. Brennan: Are you going to take any responsibility for the situation you're in?"

Brennan leaned back in her chair, unconsciously mimicking Booth's posture as she fixed herself in the right corner of it, defensive. She was aware of her role in her current predicament, but it started with Sweets - he set them down this path.

"I can address your _interpretations_ of my behavior, as you derisively regard them, but this interview isn't about me. It's about you and Booth. Now, you can both sit here and insist this dissolution is about your new commitments, but I'm not interested in allowing yourself to lie to yourselves or each other. The sooner you admit that this is about your relationship, the sooner you can leave this room and move on with your separate lives."

Brennan stole a glance at Booth. He detected her gaze and met her eyes, watching her with resignation. He looked tired to Brennan- weary, sad, frustrated, angry, defeated, disappointed. Despite the energy she poured into maintaining her composure, she was sure she looked no different to him. She struggled with resentment- resenting Booth, resenting herself, resenting Sweets. She wanted to punish them and herself, but she also wanted to mend their friendship. She never wanted to injure Booth- she wanted to spare him from a greater pain she could not avoid inflicting if they entered into a romantic relationship.

She looked down into her lap, and then at Sweets. Sighing deeply, she finally conceded. "While my new work commitments are significant in my decision, I am no longer willing to work with the FBI if I cannot work with Booth. I am incompatible with the other agents, as evidenced by prior temporary replacements and social interactions." She could feel Booth's eyes on her, but could not bring herself to meet them.

"Thank you, Dr. Brennan. Agent Booth? Leaving aside your other obligations- why are you leaving the FBI?"

"I cannot work with Dr. Brennan any longer," she heard him admit, but the resolution in his voice was only a facsimile of his normal conviction. Nevertheless, the words elicited synaptic communication for a sensation she could only describe as grief.

Sweets nodded slowly, looking between the two of them. "Any particular reason?"

Booth was silent for an unendurable minute. "I've moved on. I cannot afford to be drawn back into…" he searched for the words, and she heard him turn towards her. She looked at him as he spoke, but could not maintain eye contact as he continued, "I'm done Bones. Our partnership- our friendship- it can't recover from this."

Brennan opened her mouth to speak, but Sweets interjected, "From what, Agent Booth?"

She saw him glare at Sweets, and then at her. "From rejection, Brennan. I gambled. I lost. That hurt- but we tried to move past it. Then you run away because we couldn't perfectly preserve the relationship we had before? Then, nothing from you, for an entire year, even after I reached out to you when you didn't deserve it." His tone was becoming increasingly frustrated and his voice was elevated, "When I came to you to tell you about training snipers, I hadn't committed yet, but I wanted to give you time, I wanted to talk about it—but you? You couldn't give me the smallest courtesy or notice about your trip until you were confronted with the possibility that I might leave too. Why, Brennan? Was it because I was moving on? Just like you told me too? You can't have your cake and eat it, too, Brennan. You can't reject me, tell me to move on and then expect me to pine after you or tolerate jealousy. You can't expect me to be ok with the fact that you didn't care enough to call or e-mail or anything and then expect us to work together just like we always were. You know what? At this point, I don't even care. Is that good enough for you, Sweets? "

Brennan could feel the tears welling in her eyes and she tried to fight them off. She knew that she had made mistakes. She knew she needed to shoulder some of the blame, but…then, he scoffed at her again. He lit the fuse, and she exploded.

"What did you want me to do, Booth? Did you want me to pretend like I can believe in your definition of love when all I can think about when I look at you is complementary immunoprofiles, dopamine, vasopressin, oxytocin, mating strategies, and what your facial structure reveals about your genetic fitness? Did you want me to tell you that I could give you 30, 40 or 50 years when I can't? Evolutionarily, the average human relationship lasts seven years, just long enough for the man to extract two or three children from the woman until the youngest is age two or three. This allows him to invest the minimum number of resources for the highest return to his reproductive success. Did you want me to just forget this? That in seven years, you and I will be nearly incapable of continuing our relationship? I took a gamble, too, Booth-a gamble that our friendship would last longer than our romantic relationship. You're not the only one that lost." She felt a lone tear fall down her face and she wiped it away quickly, furious for what it revealed. She turned away from him, unable to face the pity in his softening features.

"I wasn't asking you to change, Brennan. I didn't care what you called it, I just wanted you to share it with me- one day a time. You weren't willing, though, and I accepted that, but don't fool yourself into believing you were protecting me from anything because you weren't- not when you rejected me, not when you went to South Africa, not when you didn't communicate with me at all for a year. You were protecting yourself."

"I'm sorry, Booth. I just—"

"I'm sorry, too, Brennan, but I can't do this with you anymore."

Brennan nodded silently and skimmed the lower lid beneath her right eye with her finger to remove the impending tears. She hated crying when no one knew she was doing it. She hated it more when Booth and Sweets were watching. It was an admission of grief- more grief than Booth was bearing because he continued to look only defeated. It was an admission that she was feeling the sting of his rejection. It was wrenching in her chest. She closed her eyes, briefly, mentally compartmentalizing her emotions until they were all packed away. "Can we go now, Dr. Sweets?" she spoke, "You should have sufficient information for your report."

Dr. Sweets looked between the two of them, wearing both awe and confusion as he, too, tried to put together what had transpired between herself and Booth. "Yes , but I would like you to stay. I believe that you can repair this relationship and work together again." He held his hand up, anticipating their mutual objections, "This is _because _you neither require the other as a relationship surrogate and _because _you have other obligations. If you have both truly _moved on _as you insist, then, with time, you will be a stronger team because of it. "

Brennan looked to him, allowing herself the smallest piece of hope. She wondered if he could see it. "Booth-we are the center," she started, but he cut her off.

"Don't, Brennan. The center crumbled a long time ago." Booth got up and walked to the door, pulling down on the handle despite knowing it was locked. "Time to let me go," he said to both of them. Brennan took a deep breath, fighting the pain of a second rejection. Recognizing that he would be as unyielding as she had been to him, and that she deserved it, she pulled the crumbled letter from her bag. As she approached him, he gestured for the guards to unlock the door. Booth was gone before she could turn around.

She extended her hand with the letter, offering to to Sweets. He held his hand up in refusal, "Take some time, Dr. Brennan. I'll accept it from you after the conference is over."

**A/N: A second thank you for the reviews. I really do appreciate them, whether it's a brief, "I love it, post more," or "Proofread, please!" On the latter note, anyone who has an eye for this sort of thing is welcome to send me a message. I know I need a Beta. **


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **This chapter was challenging. I have better things on the way, as evidenced by the final paragraph. This is an important parallel, though.

**Three days later. **

Brennan did not permit herself to contemplate the events of the afternoon for even a moment. She left the entire situation in Dr. Sweets' office, freeing herself to single-mindedly focus on her conference. Her efforts were well-rewarded. The presentation went flawlessly and her preliminary findings were received with an unusually low amount of controversy given their nature. Terrence's narrative about the discovery and analysis of the bones was also engaging and well-attended. Afterwards, she, Terrence and the lab went out for a celebratory dinner in which she imbibed way too much alcohol, remembered nothing and woke up hungover at 2 o'clock in the afternoon to take Terrence to his 6 o'clock flight.

She expected to feel differently about him leaving. He was, after all, her partner of more than a year and their sexual relationship should have bonded them chemically together. Certainly, she wondered, as she turned onto the interstate toward the airport, she should miss him just as much as she would miss his dexterity.

"Tempe?" she heard him say from the passenger seat as switched into the left-hand turn lane.

"Yes, Terrence? Is something wrong? I do not think I made a wrong turn."

"No, I just- you have not been yourself the last couple of days. I am concerned about you, and that I may have misinterpreted our relationship."

She glanced over him, smiling, "You have been an exceptional partner in and I am pleased that I will continue to work with you in the future. I am merely distracted by the work I will now have to complete without you, and disappointment that our sexual relationship is ending." She was just beginning to congratulate herself on acquiring formidable skills in deception when Terrence called her out.

"You have no reason to lie to me. I have worked in your lab every day for six weeks, befriending your colleagues and pretending to ignore their insatiable gossiping. I know about your FBI partner and your meeting with the psychologist."

Brennan exited onto the I-66 and fixed her eyes on the road ahead of her. She wondered if she had any safe haven from the destruction of that afternoon. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to bring it up because of the conference-"Her words were apologetic, but she was too focused on passing the SUV in front of her to convince her tone to be as well.

He cut her off, "That is a very convenient excuse. It doesn't make me feel any less foolish, though. If I had known that for the last twelve months that I was being used as a surrogate for another man, I would have kept our relationship more professional."

"Surrogate? You have very little in common with Booth. He does not have your intellect or your attention to detail, and you lack his Catholic superstitions. I could go in great detail about your differences."

"Is that because you are constantly comparing him to me? Is that why you have not asked me to stay?"

Brennan frowned, glancing over at him quickly, "I was unaware that you wanted to stay."

"You have incredible observation skills when it comes to bones, Temperance, but you are poor at applying them to the people around you. How many excursions did we discuss, only to abandon them because we would not have time? How many lecture invitations did I turn down? How many conversations have I attempted to have with you about the future of our relationship?" She could hear the echo of Booth's scoffing noise punctuating each of his sentences.

Brennan pushed down on her breaks, bouncing gently over the speed bump into the international terminal parking area. The familiar feeling of defeat crept back into her consciousness, but she was too exhausted to fight it. "I'm sorry. You should have been more direct with me. I will admit that I am not very proficient at interpreting subtle social cues. If you would like to stay, I would not be adverse to continuing our relationship. We can drive right through the airport back to the interstate. I'll have an appointment set up tomorrow about your visa."

"All of the enthusiasm of your invitation aside, that will be unnecessary. Your drunken display last night was informative. You may drop me off at the curb." He was short, but strangely amicable.

Brennan pulled over to the side of the luggage drop-off area, rapidly sorting through his revelation and disturbed about what she may have revealed the night before. "You have been a good friend to me and I hope we can continue to work together. I am unaware of my behavior last night, but I want to assure you that-"

"Tempe, please," he stopped her with a hand on her thigh, and leaned over to kiss her on her cheek. "It is unnecessary. I will give you a call as soon as I finish assessing the condition of the dig." After exiting the car, he pushed the door shut behind him, peering through the window, "Some advice? You have done little more than frown throughout this entire conversation. You were inconsolably binge drinking over the prospect that your _friendship_ over with Agent Booth. I suggest that you resolve the situation quickly, so you do not leave anymore broken hearts in your wake." He smiled at her, sadly.

"Have a safe flight, Terrence." she returned his smile, feeling overwhelmed by deja vu. The prospect of her behavior the night before, of breaking Terrence's heart the way she had broken Booth's, despite its scientific impossibility, and that she was so exhausted that she could not elicit the necessary affection for a goodbye of her partner and good friend-it was more than she could navigate in that moment. She glanced down at her steering wheel briefly, and then back towards Terrence, "Thank you- for everything." It was a small consolation to him, she was sure, but it was sincere.

"Goodbye, Tempe," he said before disappearing into the airport.

As Brennan pulled away from the airport, she finally gave herself an opportunity to digest the situation at hand: Booth, Terrance, her intoxicated behavior. What had she said and who did she say it to? She was sure Angela would know, but looking down at her phone, she discovered that she was down to her last bar of power. She sighed deeply as she drove up the on-ramp onto the interstate and relaxed her shoulders against the back of her seat. With the conference over and Terrence gone, she would have few immediate distractions to stifle the sick feeling rising in her abdomen. She tried the radio. She tried outlining the plot for a new novel. She tried listing her upcoming projects on the _Australopithecus _dig. She even considered the three- minute conversation she could have on her phone with Angela when she arrived at a familiar park by auto-pilot.

Sitting on one of the benches reading the newspaper, she spotted Booth. In front of him, Parker swung across a short ladder of monkey bars. Feeling brave, Brennan parked, exited her vehicle and sat down next to him before she could give herself an opportunity to change her mind. He didn't look up from his paper, even as she spoke to him. "Booth-" she started, her heart rate rising, "I want to give this a shot."


	8. Chapter 8

"I want to give this a shot," The words lingered in the space between them, unanswered as Booth turned the page of the newspaper.

"What are you doing here?" he asked her from behind the sports section, chilly and disinterested.

"I don't know," she told the front page headlines, "I.." she paused, trying to decode her mental perception of a molecular decision map influenced by thermodynamics. She searched her memories of their previous conversations, looking for the right words. "I put my brain in neutral and just drove, and here you were- almost like fate."

"Cut the crap, Brennan. You don't believe in fate. Why are you here?" Brennan could have winced at his unusually terse tone.

"You do." She countered.

"I'm seeing someone," he informed her as he turned his head away from her to scan the right side. The paper squeaked beneath his fingers as he tightened his grip on the edge of the pages.

"Booth—that's not what I am asking for. I only want a chance to make things right- a chance to be partners and friends again. I just don't know how." She felt stupid and incompetent. Very rarely was she incapable of surmounting an obstacle, especially one that should be easily defeated by logic. That her communication was hindered by her attempts at translation only increased her frustration.

He peered over the top of his newspaper, and for a moment, she had hope. Booth's eyes did not meet her own. She followed his gaze to Parker, who was safely climbing on a jungle gym and playing a game with some other children. Straightening his newspaper out so that it continued to cover his face, he cleared his throat and spoke again,"I can't give you that."

She wouldn't let him hide from her. "Look at me," she told him, putting her hand in the center of the paper and pushing it down so that the paper creased and crumpled beneath it. "Why not? I know I've made mistakes, but we can move past them…We're family. Remember?"

Booth's face was marked by profound sadness- it was evident in the dark circles under his eyes, the deep lines in his face, the matte appearance of his corneas. He folded the newspaper up as neatly as he could, smoothing out the wrinkles and folds before tossing it in the pile with the rest of the paper without particular regard. Then, he looked at her with that sad expression she had seen too many times before. "I am not going to have this discussion with you while I am with my son."

He was right. It was unfair and inappropriate. "Is there someplace we could meet later? I could come by your apartment, or we could go to the diner or-"

"No," he interrupted her. "I don't want to do this with you. I know what happened last night." His jaw was set resolutely, and he seemed to look right through her.

Brennan was frustrated. Terrence had hidden something from her- to be fair, he hadn't told her much of anything. What had she done that would make Booth so angry, so unyielding? "I don't have any recollection about last night but-" She lost her train of thought as Booth took her hand in his own. She was captivated by the near-instantaneous chemical reward she derived from such a simple gesture. His hands were warm and gratifyingly calloused, passing over her softer skin like lace.

"You're still the standard, Bones. No one has made me feel as miserable as you have in the last year, but I can't move past-," he paused, looking down at their hands intertwined, "Knowing you can't move past it either makes it impossible- you're the one who is supposed to be the rational one," he joked briefly, before continuing with a sad finality, "We can't be friends, anymore, and that means we can't be partners either."

She felt dizzy as the rapid down-regulation of every molecule of dopamine commenced. She was desperate to hold onto it. "Please, Booth," she pleaded, her voice cracking and the stinging behind her eyes threatening to devolve into tears. "One case."

"Your evidence will be anecdotal," he teased her gently and released her hands to collect his newspaper. "Parker, you have two minutes!" he shouted over at his son.

She reached out and grabbed the open ends of his unzipped jacket, drawing him closer. "I know I don't deserve your forgiveness," she said, looking into her sad eyes with his own, "I don't know how to ask for it, I don't know how to show you-" she was rambling, intoxicated by bergamot, cinnamon and oak.

He gently pushed her away, removing her hands from his jacket. "I will consider it," he finally conceded, as Parker bounced towards them.

"Bones!" the boy exclaimed and wrapped his arms around her in an enthusiastic hug.

She did her best to conceal her inner turmoil from the child. She smiled at him with genuine affection. "Hello, Parker. You have grown up quite a bit since I have seen you last." In truth, the boy had probably increased in height by several inches, and his hair had become darker.

"Dad said you were in Africa for a whole year! Did you see any elephants? Giraffes?"

"I sure did. I have lots of pictures. Maybe I will get to show them to you sometime," she told him hopefully and looked up at Booth.

"It's time to go, buddy," he told the boy in response and sent him running towards the car. When Parker was out of earshot, he turned to her, "I wish you hadn't done that."

"Done what?" Brennan was genuinely confused.

Booth just shook his head and walked away from her. "See you around, Brennan."

**Monday morning, Jeffersonian, 8am**

Angela was waiting for Brennan in her office with coffee. "You look terrible," she told her as she handed her the warm cardboard cup. "Still hungover?" she joked with a knowing smirk.

Brennan lifted her eyebrows at Angela, "Are you going to tell me what happened on Friday night, or am I going to continue to wonder how my actions have disrupted my relationships with both Terrence and Booth?" She was short with her, and knew it.

"You don't need to get angry with me, Bren. I tried to stop you, but you just kept insisting, 'One more shot, one more shot.' You should be thanking me for holding your hair back. You also haven't returned any of my calls- what happened with Terrence and Booth?"

Brennan took a seat at her desk and began unpacking her bag, trying to avoid Angela's scrutiny. "I apologize. Could we discuss this over lunch, instead? I am admittedly in a foul mood."

"Or maybe you're going to avoid the subject altogether, sweetie? Just know I'm not giving you any dirt until you give me some. Maybe we should go shopping for some new clothes while you're at it- pistachio is not your color." Angela walked out of her office, but stopped at the railing of the walkway and turned around, "Booth is downstairs- in a suit."

Brennan felt embattled._ Did she find an excuse to walk down to the platform? Would Booth come up to her? Was he in a suit because they had a case?_ She noticed her heart increased, her palms perspired, and the hormones of anxiety were pumped into her bloodstream. Interrupting her analysis, her phone vibrated against her desk. She hesitated briefly, looking to Angela, before picking it up. The name on the caller ID read _Booth_.

"Mornin', Bones. We have a case. Meet me downstairs. "


	9. Chapter 9

**A\N: ** This is a double update to thank you all for your support- reviews, story alerts, etc. They are encouraging and I appreciate them greatly. This is, after all, my first Bones fic.

Brennan quickly changed into her field suit, grabbed her bag and hurried down the stairs to meet Booth. She did her best not to seem eager. She slid down the final two stairs, inspiring a short laugh out of Booth and intolerable looks of sympathy from the rest of the lab. "Where's the body?" she asked, as she smoothed down the front of her suit, trying to pretend as if nothing happened. As if no time had past, she and Booth began walking in harmonious step out of the Jeffersonian.

"African-American female, 20 years of age. Name: Anna Pittman. College student at George Washington University found dead in her dorm room from a gunshot wound to the head .Possible suicide- there is note," he rattled off from the file before handing it to her for her own inspection.

Brennan climbed into the SUV, not taking her eyes off of the crime scene photos. She frowned at them and then at Booth. "This happened almost a week ago- the body is nearly intact. Why did they assign it to us?"

"Two reasons- she's a White House intern was involved with the son of the Director of the Congressional Budget Office. They broke up four days before the alleged suicide. Also, the lead investigator may have had a conflict of interest. We're just making sure everyone dotted their Is and crossed their Ts."

"What kind of conflict of interest?"

"His stepdaughter was rejected for the same internship that our victim won. Nothing major, but under the circumstances…"

Brennan flipped through the photographs of the victim, noting the angle of the head wound. "This wound is plausible, but I will need to examine it in more detail. Do we have access to the body?"

"It's on the way to the Jeffersonian right now. I thought we'd head over the dorm room first. The university administration is anxious to get the room cleaned down. I've gotten four calls this morning about taking the crime scene tape down. I assumed you want to take some samples and photographs of your own"

She nodded, "Yes, I would appreciate that," and continued reviewing the files. When she arrived at the last page, she noticed that the ballistics report was missing. "Booth I don't see a ballistics report for the gun. Has one not been done?"

Booth clicked his turn signal on and headed for the exit towards GWU. "That's odd. There should be one in there- I'll call about it when we get there."

Brennan settled back in her seat as their conversation died down. She tried to busy herself by looking through the reports, but she was distracted by curiosity. _Why had Booth changed his mind? Could she ask? Everything seemed normal so far…_ She bit her proverbial tongue for the duration of the drive, careful not to shatter the comfortable rhythm they had set so far.

**11:30am, Mitchell Hall**

After several hours of collecting samples and questioning students, Brennan and Booth had accomplished very little beyond what was indicated in the report. Booth seemed similarly discouraged as they headed back towards the SUV from the residence hall. "I'm having them send the ballistics report to Hodgins. You may want to run your own tests though- something isn't adding up."

Brennan opened the back door to the SUV, carefully placing her bag and samples on the seat, before sitting into the front seat. "I agree. What was the name of the next door neighbor?"

"Jason Foster," Booth responded as he turned the key in the ignition. Brennan found herself staring at his hands for the third time that morning.

"His answers are inconsistent with what is in the report."

Booth nodded, putting one of his hands behind her headrest and turning his body to look through the back window in order to pull out of the parking space. Brennan could feel his hand pull on several stray strands of hair from her ponytail. She didn't pull them away. "I am going to call him in for questioning this afternoon. Also, Carey Littlehouse. Her story didn't add up either."

She felt emboldened by their productive afternoon, and turned over the words to ask him to lunch in her mouth, before blurting them out awkwardly, and with less grace than she had practiced. "Should we discuss it over lunch?"

"I have an appointment," he quickly shut her down.

"Oh," she replied, trying to disguise her disappointment. "I should have lunch with Angela, anyway."

She and Booth sat in uncomfortable silence. She spent the time internally chastising herself for being so forward too soon. Their synchronicity was only an illusion, it seemed. They tried to fill the gap with the radio, but were unsuccessful without banter to bridge the difference in their musical preferences, and ultimately left it off.

As they pulled into the parking lot of the Jeffersonian, Booth broke their silence. "Look, Brennan- this isn't about you. I'm doing this despite my better judgment because I have a family to support while I wait for a transfer."

"You are dismissing our partnership before you have given me an opportunity to make amends. I thought things went well today." She met his eyes, searching her face for the things he was unwilling to say. Unfortunately, Booth remained stoic and she remained as inept at reading through it as Terrence noted her to be. She took the hint and stepped out of the SUV, opening the back door only to grab her bag. She shut it with distinct force, just short of slamming it.

"Bones," he called after her from inside the SUV, but she did not turn around. Lunch with Angela would be a timely distraction.

**Angela's Office, 1:30**

Brennan and Angela sat in front of the Angelator on the ground, eating pizza and going through the security footage of the parking lot outside of Mitchell Hall. Having finished her slice, Angela reached for the remote and clicked it off.

"You have denied me information for long enough, Bren. We've got 20 minutes. Time for you to spill- Booth or Terrence."

"Terrence," Brennan reluctantly responded as she dropped a piece of crust onto her paper plate. Angela's insight into predicament with Booth would be more illuminating and remunerative, but she required her own analysis before she could present the right information to Angela.

Angela collected their used plates and tossed them into a trash can behind her, and folded the pizza box closed. She looked at Brennan, anticipating a continuation before prompting her, "Come on. What happened at the airport?"

"He said he felt foolish, that he knew about Booth, that it was unfair of me to compare them. He was disappointed that I didn't ask him to stay, but my behavior the night before was revealing about why."

"Are you surprised by any of this? The man was dropping hints you could see from a satellite. He wanted to stay- he was absolutely smitten with you."

"Had I known that, I would have invited him to continue working with me. Terrence was perfectly adequate as a romantic partner and as a working one."

"That's the problem, Bren. Who wants to be adequate? Of course he felt foolish. You were celebrating your mutual success and his last night in the city. Rather than enjoying his company, you drank yourself into a stupor, spent two hours in the bathroom, puking and incoherent and inconsolable about what happened with Booth at Dr. Sweets' office. Then, as if you hadn't insulted him enough, you said to him, "I love you, Booth," as he helped you into the cab."

Brennan felt her cheeks aflame with embarrassment. She put her hand on her forehead and sighed deeply, saying nothing. Angela rested a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Are you going to tell me about Booth now?" she asked, but Brennan only shook her head.

"No. I am going to review the remains, solve this case, and release Booth of the obligation of working with me. I see now that he was not inaccurate in his exposition about why we cannot continue to work together." Brennan stood with conviction and headed out of Angela's office.

"Wait!" she heard Angela hurry to get up behind her. Brennan slowed her walk, waiting for her to catch-up.

"I'm really not willing to continue discussing this with you right now, " she told her friend, trying to force competing thoughts out of her head so that she could focus on the case.

"No more discussion. How about a girls' night out? Maybe we'll go shopping, see a movie- all of this drama aside, we really haven't caught up since you got back. I know you want to hear about the week Jack and I spent on the Galapagos."

Brennan smiled at her friend, feeling a small sense of relief. "That would be satisfactory. I will leave my Saturday afternoon open."


	10. Chapter 10

**Tysons Galleria, Saturday, 2pm**

"You know how much I detest malls. A stand-alone department store would have been more appropriate for my needs. I only require a few items to replace those I damaged in South Africa."

"And you also would have missed out on pretzels and lemonade, and making a wish in the water fountain…Also, if you had not liked what the department store was offering, we would have had to go someplace else. You would call that, 'inefficient," Angela countered with the enthusiasm of a kid at an amusement park. Brennan had to admit Angela was in her element.

Brennan was definitely out of hers, however. She was also exhausted- all of the political posturing required to close the case would have made her weary independent of the tension between her and her partner. Fortunately, Occam's razor had served her well during the case. It was a simple suicide, although the gun had been stolen from the Director's home. The ATF would be following up about that particular matter.

Still, she doubted that she had the energy to keep up with Angela- resting alone with Bach and an anthropology journal were more appropriate given the impending stress she was soon to encounter. She and Booth would have another required meeting with Dr. Sweets on the following Monday, but she doubted it could do any further damage. It was clear that Booth was tolerating her, although she could only speculate about why he did not request a different partner. She suspected that it regarded how quickly he anticipated a transfer, if not a small fraction of responsibility to her.

Even after hearing about how she had embarrassed herself in front of Terrence and the lab, after Booth had put her insignificant role in his return to the FBI in context, after he had rejected her repeatedly, she was mustering false conviction to end their partnership. She wanted to maintain her dignity, but she wanted to prove Booth incorrect even more. They continued to work together productively despite the resentment between them for the duration of the week, but as soon as the conversation turned away from the details of the case, the familiarity that made them an excellent team dissipated quickly.

With so much on her mind, she would have declined the invitation if Angela had not been so insistent throughout the week about the importance of their girl time. She would have to admit that the warm oversized cookies Angela continually supplied her with throughout the day did play a small part in improving her mood. Her dramatic retellings of Hodgins' battle with a finch colony outside of their hotel on Baltra Island were also amusing, and she enjoyed recounting her own adventures.

Inside Neiman Marcus, Angela held up vibrantly patterned skirts against Brennan's waist: monochromatic walnut flowers, checkered cerulean and white, polka-dotted violet. "I can't decide," she told Brennan as she pushed them into her hands, "Try them all on- oh! With this white top!"

And so commenced the afternoon, as Angela dressed her up and dressed her down until they had thoroughly poured through every department store except for the Macy's. Fortunately or not, Angela informed her that they would have an opportunity scan through their lines as well because it was on the way to the parking lot.

"Thank you, Angela," Brennan told her, eight bags later, as they sorted through the last of the women's racks at Macy's. "I have enjoyed our afternoon together."

"No problem, sweetie. You know- I have avoided prying further, but if you need to talk to me about…"

"I know. If I feel compelled to discuss it, you have the ears that I will rent."

"I will lend you my ear" Angela corrected her with a wink, and handed her a sapphire-blue cocktail dress. "Why don't you go try this on? And when you get back, I want you to finish telling me about gorilla trekking."

Brennan slipped the bags off her hands, and allowed them to join the other six on Angela's own arms. "I'll be right back," she indulged, and headed towards the dressing room. The dress was flattering and it highlighted her eyes well, but she already had one in a similar cut- the black one she wore the night of the Anok exhibition. She tried not to dwell on the palpable tension between her and Booth that night. She wondered if things would have turned out differently if she had taken some initiative then, or ever, for that matter. She scowled at herself as she pulled the dress over her head. 'What ifs' were futile, irrational exercises. Furthermore, she had made the right decision based on the evidence she had and could not correct it regardless. Clearly, she had been away from the lab too long if she was entertaining such ridiculous notions.

She left the dressing room, having put the dress back on the hanger. Scanning, the racks for Angela, her eyes fell on something else entirely: Booth and an attractive red-head, flipping through small items on a clothing rack across the main walkway of the store. She was quick to observe that they were section designated for baby clothing, from the sign above and from the size of the items on the rack. From her training, Brennan also noted that the gait of the woman as they meandered towards a second rack, indicating the last weeks of the first trimester.

Brennan was rooted in place, unable process the information in front of her. He was smiling. She was holding up outfits for his approval and he seemed to appease her- mimicking her attitudes towards the tiny articles of clothing as if he had very little opinion of his own. Then, he held up a hideous one-piece in chartreuse, they began laughing and he embraced her, sharing a private joke. Brennan's own face could have been chartreuse with jealousy- she was too stunned to conceal it.

Angela must have detected that something was wrong, because she appeared at her side soon after. Brennan's conception of time was distorted by the shock. "What's wrong?" she asked, before following Brennan's gaze. Brennan could hear her gasp in her right ear.

"Come on. Let's go, before he sees you," she heard her speak again, but Brennan felt as if she was in a tunnel and Angela was at the far end of it. Everything proceeded in slow motion. The dress was pulled out of her hands and the handle of the metal hanger clicked against the rack as Angela hung it up. She was being pulled away when Booth noticed her. He looked as stunned as she was, but she was denied further analysis as Angela turned her away from the scene, out of the store, through the parking lot and into the car. Brennan followed her footsteps as if she was hypnotized. The image burned into her retinas.

"I'm fine," she finally protested as she came out of her stupor. Angela had been trying to pull the seatbelt over her like a child. She pushed her hands away, unable to hide her agitation, and buckled her own belt. She stopped the passenger side door as Angela tried to close it, absorbing a gratifyingly painful amount of momentum, and then shut the door herself. She heard folding and crumpling of paper bags as Angela threw them in the back seat.

Her friend climbed into the driver's seat, visibly stunned as well. She put the keys into the ignition but didn't start it. "Brennan…" she began and then paused. "There's nothing I can say. I know you don't want to talk about it."

"Take me home, please. I have some paperwork to finish," she requested, pushing aside the various clutter in her purse.

"Are you sure? We can still go to a movie," Angela tried as she started the vehicle and pulled out of the space.

"No. I would like you to drop me off at my apartment." Brennan ran her fingers over the edges of the crumpled envelope, bundled with a rubber band with two, neater ones. The edges were worn now. She would need to replace it.

**A/N: **What can I say? I'm feeling inspired and I have a great deal of work to do this week, so I will be unable to update until around Thursday. This is, admittedly, a short chapter, but it is because the next chapter is lengthy. I will admit that I may be bribed away from my PCRs with some reviews- good or bad ones. I suspect the next chapter will be more shocking than this one.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **I had more time between running my gels than I anticipated. Rest assured, your fragile hearts are in good custody, but maybe not in this chapter. Or the next one. Remember that great sacrifice comes with great reward.

**5:00pm, Outside of Brennan's Apartment**

"I don't feel right about leaving you in your apartment alone after that," Angela told her as they pulled in front of her apartment building. Brennan felt her hand on her shoulder, a small attempt at consolation. Brennan was beginning to appreciate its familiar weight, even as she resented the accompanying pity. She resisted the urge to shrug the well-intentioned gesture away, and reciprocated it instead.

"I understand and appreciate your concern, but I would prefer to be alone right now. I do not intend to do anything rash- I am only going to complete my paperwork on this case, listen to some Mozart and read a few of the journals I'm behind on." She smiled sincerely at her friend, trying to withstand the empathy written in her features. Her eyes began to sting as Angela's did. She dismissed the sentiment as mirror neurons.

"Sweetie…" Angela remained reluctant, "Why don't you come home with me instead? You can stay in the guest room- no one will bother you. "

Brennan matched Angela's persistence with her own, and continued with her goodbye. "With the exception of our final excursion, due to no fault of your own, I have had a very lovely afternoon. Are you free tomorrow? We can go to our movie then. I am curious about what you find so appealing about Jennifer Lopez."

"I'm serious, Bren. There is supposed to be a bad storm tonight- they are expecting power outages. Please at least pretend to take my offer seriously."

"When is the storm supposed to come in?" Brennan conceded with a hesitant sigh.

"Around 11pm. Can Jack and I pick you up at 9:30?" Angela sounded relieved, finally hitting the button to unlock the doors.

"You can pick me up at 9:00 if you like," Brennan offered as she exited the vehicle and collected her bags from the passenger seat. "I have a bottle of Amarula from South Africa that I intended to share with you. I will bring it over." Brennan closed the back door and waved Angela off.

When she stepped inside the building, she set the bags quickly down in her room and began single-mindedly searching for two things: envelopes and a particular file she had built almost two years prior. The file she recovered easily. The envelopes were elusive- none in the kitchen, none in her desk, none in her file cabinets, none in her closet, and although she lacked sufficient rationale for searching there, no envelopes were found in her medicine cabinet either.

Grabbing her car keys, she rationalized that she was going to drive by the convenience store on her way to the Hoover building, which was just a few miles beyond her first destination anyway. She could abandon her compulsive search for envelopes briefly in favor of a task that could not wait until business hours at the FBI.

**6:00pm, Washington Fertility Clinic**

Brennan sat in the parking lot, staring at the red letters that identified the clinic. It was Saturday. They would be closed in half an hour. Glancing down at the file folder in her passenger seat, she knew it was now or never. Still, she hesitated. In the last fifteen minutes, she had reviewed every document and assured that each was accurate and accounted for no viewer than four times. Still, she discarded it in the passenger seat again and again, waiting for the courage to walk into the building with it. Emboldened by a fortuitous clap of thunder that was accompanied by the first raindrops of the incoming storm, Brennan grabbed the folder a final time and jogged into the clinic.

She presented her documents. She filled out her forms. She validated her identity at least three times. She waited and waited, avoiding the accusatory looks of children and their parents on the covers of the parenting magazines at her disposal. What she did not do was consider the consequences of what she was doing. She did not make a molecular map influenced by thermodynamics of the increasingly narrowing outcomes that would result from her decision. She did not speculate about would could be and what might have been. Instead, she recited the name of every bone she knew- human, pig, cat, deer, chimpanzee and zebrafish, in that order, until the attendant arrived with a frosty steel container at 7:15pm.

**7:30pm, Brennan's Apartment. **

Back at her apartment, Brennan had a hard time finding an appropriate location for the cylinder. She considered the freezer, but that implied the contents would have more permanence than she intended, at least in their current form. She tried the coffee table, but this was inconvenient for dispatching the frozen package. It was her opinion that only food and their containers belonged on the kitchen table. Sperm did not qualify, she decided with some amusement. After pouring herself a very large glass of Riesling, she settled on the kitchen sink. The bathroom sink implied more intimacy than she was comfortable with.

Pulling a chair in front of the sink, she topped off her glass and kicked her feet up to watch the condensation develop on the outside of the container. Idly, she wondered if there was some sort of protocol for discarding sperm, or if her chosen disposal method was sufficient. For her purposes, at least, it seemed to be.

One glass at a time, she waited, finally allowing herself to analyze the decision she had made by "putting her heart into overdrive." She had wanted a child as a natural extension of her genetic destiny to procreate. She had wanted Booth's child because he was a genetically fit individual with complementary traits. Admittedly, she was also attracted because their persistent flirtation mimicked courtship rituals, and she had wanted Booth's child even more when his genetic material became scarce because of his surgery. When he recovered, she called into question her presumptions about his genetic fitness. Although the oncogenesis could have been promoted by a virus instead of a defect in his genetics, the potential was enough to give Brennan pause to see how Booth recovered. By the time it was apparent that he would remain a solid donor candidate, she had begun seeing Hacker and her enthusiasm for producing a child had waned.

Why then, was Brennan so disrupted by the prospect of Booth fathering someone else's child? If it was standard mating jealousy, her response was irrational. She would want to father _more _children than the red-headed woman to ensure her offspring a greater share in Booth's resources and their collective genetic future. Her response to destroy her only possibility of having Booth's child was completely irrational. She was also forcing herself to engage in far more effort to acquire the potential for mating with him again- five years of flirtation could not bridge the chasm between them now.

She felt fortunate for the alcohol- it whittled down at her ability to concentrate and allowed her to meander in and out of what she found to be disturbing trains of thought. Consequences. Condensation. Consequences. Condensation.

Four glasses and half an hour later, she had changed her mind. As if a poignant metaphor for her relationship with Booth, the contents were still stubbornly frozen, so she pitched the white mass in the sink and ran warm water over it until it melted and dispersed down the drain.

At 8:30, she heard a knock on her front door. She immediately regretted the lapse in judgment that was the source of her inebriation. If Angela thought she was near a nervous breakdown when she left, she would not be convinced otherwise in Brennan's current state.

"You're early! One moment!" she shouted as she stashed both her glass and the wine bottle in the dishwasher. She stared briefly at the metal container, unsure of what to do with it. Was it dishwasher safe? At the second knock at her door prompted her to throw in into the cabinet with her glasses.

With the apartment visually free of the evidence of the evenings' activities, she swept her clothing smooth, grabbed enough gum to disguise her breath and opened the door. The dripping figure in front of her was too tall to be Hodgins, and too masculine to be Angela.

"Can I come in?"

Brennan was struck by the fact that she had forgotten to pick up envelopes.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: **Are you buckled in? You must be 6"0 to ride this rollercoaster (mind the rating, ahem.)

Brennan ceded the door to Booth, allowing him to walk in. He closed it behind himself as she wordlessly pulled a towel out of the linen closet and handed it to him. Recalling a stash of clothes she used to keep for their later nights doing paperwork, she retrieved them too- all five sets. She watched him dry his face and hair and arms, fascinated and conflicted about what she should be thinking about the man in front of her."I'm sorry," he spoke again, kicking off his wet shoes, "I'm dripping on your floor."

She gestured to the piles of clothes she set on the chair next to him. He picked them up to change in the bathroom, "Thanks," she heard him say as he shuffled away from her. She took the opportunity to reclaim her wine glass and open another bottle of Riesling, imagining that numbing the impending conversation would be worth Angela's scrutiny.

Waiting for him on the couch, she giggled to herself, blaming both Booth and the wine. He sat down next to her and deftly pulled the wine glass away from her, frowning. "What's so funny?" he asked, his eyes darting across her face, searching.

"It's trivial- dripping on my floor- but it was so sincere." She smirked at the notion, and at him, reaching for her wine glass only to have it swiftly taken away again and set back on the coffee table. Whether it was her actions or her notions about his apology, she elicited a brief chuckle from Booth.

"Bones, I didn't want you to find out that way," he admitted after their laughter had died down. He appeared to be sincere to her, but she couldn't tolerate the pity seeping into his features.

She pulled at his t-shirt, pinching a small piece of fabric between her fingers near his left pectoral muscle, and released it quickly, "You should take them home, all of them. Terrence and I had a very unfortunate disagreement about their presence here."

Booth glanced around quickly, chastising himself for missing the signs of a second inhabitant- but he couldn't find any in his immediate surroundings. He hadn't seen any in the bathroom either. "Where is Terrence?"

Brennan swept the wine glass off of the table and into her hand, taking a long drink from it before Booth could reach for it again. She pulled it away from him, challenging him to take it from her. He didn't, so she brought the cup to her lips again. "Back in South Africa," she told him after a second swallow.

She felt his eyes on her, evaluating every contraction and expansion of each muscle fiber. It was insufferable, but the alcohol tamed the aggravation while it lowered her inhibitions. "I'm sorry," she heard him express again, but this time it was not trivial, and no amount of alcohol could tame her frustration. It reeked of pity.

"I don't need your pity, Booth, I need a partner," she asserted, removing herself from the couch to refill her glass.

"If you keep drinking, maybe you can have both. I'll help you into the bathroom when you start puking so you can devolve into hysterics about how much. Terrence meant to you. Will you explain to me in great detail that you treated him like shit for his own good?" He was sarcastic and approaching malicious. It sparked a rush of catecholamines that could only result in confrontation.

Brennan could feel her body swimming in cortisol and adrenaline. It provoked her to be equivalently snide. "And when you help me into a cab to Angela's, I'll be so confused that I'll think you're Terrence and I'll confess my love for you. Would you enjoy that, too, Booth?"

"What?" he responded in the same volume of their dispute. Brennan assumed he was trying to anger her further.

She slammed the wine bottle down on the table after topping off her glass to finish what was left in the bottle. She gulped down several swallows- her every movement and decision had been amplified by the cocktail of adrenaline and alcohol in her blood. She slid it ungraciously onto the table, some of its contents sloshing of the sides. She watched, no, inspected him for the first time since they began shouting. Just when they began a petulant staring contest, she answered him, "You heard me, Booth. Take your condescension somewhere else."

"I didn't know," he told her- she almost believed him. He had lowered his volume. His posture, his tone, his eyes- they were sincere.

"How convenient," she retorted, "It isn't relevant anymore, though, is it?" reaching for her wine glass again, almost like a safety net.

"Of course it's relevant!" he shouted back at her, bridging the gap quickly between them. Brennan dropped her wine glass on the table unceremoniously as he captured her in his arms and kissed her with all the passion he had once before. She did not hear it shatter on the floor.

In a delirious haze of adrenaline and alcohol and oxytocin and dopamine and- Brennan decided to stop rationalizing it and just give in. As he backed her against the wall, she wrapped her legs around his waist, and his lips left her own: engaging her sensitive earlobes, the erogenous regions in the crook of her neck, across her shoulders, and finally the flushing parts of her chest exposed by her V-neck. She tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled him closer with a squeeze of her thighs, encouraging and his ministrations.

He pulled her away from the wall, allowing her feet to touch the ground before he began backing them towards the bedroom. Lying back on the bed, looking up at him, she was pliant under his meandering lips, malleable in his roving hands and submissive to his every declaration of love and forgiveness whispered into her ears- each playing a part in eliciting her own confessions.

Then, after having peeled off his shirt and her own, did she experienced an unfortunate moment of clarity. It came in two forms: guilt and nausea.

Booth reconnected their lips, continuing oblivious to her jarring revelation. "Booth-" she pleaded, fighting back two very quickly imbibed bottles of Riesling.

He froze and looked at her with those darting, inspecting eyes, "What's wrong?"

"She's having your baby," she whispered, and gently pushed him away as she had once done before, leaving him to fall dejected at her side. She rolled off the bed, unable to withstand the expression she knew was on his face. She locked herself in the bathroom, allowing the thunder of scalding water against her bathtub deafen her to the sounds of him leaving. Only her physical equilibrium returned in the haze of her foggy bathroom.

After the water chilled, she braved the scene of the crime again. On her nightstand, next to the clock that indicated she had a brief four minutes before Angela and Hodgins' arrival, he had thoughtfully left her a glass of water.

A/N: Typos fixed post-publishing. Sorry about that- unacceptable, to say the least. I think I got them all.


End file.
